


Matthew 13:12

by LunaStorm



Category: Chronicles of Narnia (Movies), Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis
Genre: Canon Compliant, Gen, Post - The Last Battle, Tackling The Susan Question
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-21
Updated: 2014-05-21
Packaged: 2018-01-26 00:28:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1668062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LunaStorm/pseuds/LunaStorm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Susan's mind wanders, and she wonders... What more will she lose? What is she left with?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Matthew 13:12

The  church  is  quiet,  a  silent  sea  of  black  clothes  and  sombre  faces,  few  whispers sounding as counterpoint to the droning voice of the reverend, hurriedly hushed.

Susan doesn’t notice any of this.

Her mind is still registering the cold grey rain outside, the dark brown earth that she knows will soon bury everything she still held dear, enfolding them in its pungent, rich smell.

Her mind wanders.

Deep down, Susan knows Narnia is not a childish game. Deep down, she knows it is – was – more real than any silly party she has attended over the years.

She still remembers with a shiver of cold dread the horrible months after they were exiled from their country – the land she’s loved and lost and denied because it hurt too much to keep it in a hollowed heart.

She doesn’t acknowledge the truth, not even now.

She’d always struggled to appear level-headed, trustworthy, ever since childhood.

She’d had to grow up so soon, too soon, pushed by the war and her father’s absence and  her  mother’s  exhaustion  and  her  own  instinctual  wish  to  help  Peter  bear  his burdens.

Because of that, she’d always been cool, rational, detached.

Logical Susan.

So sensible, so mature.  

Never letting her mask of practical little woman down, never betraying that under her portrayed confidence, she was nervous, unsure of her ability to help her mother, to guide her siblings.

Later, she’d been just as unsure of her ability to govern, wanting to do her best for Aslan  and  her  people,  and  not  knowing  how  to  achieve  that  goal;  she’d  hid  that nervousness too, under the appearance of practiced grace and cool elegance.

Only  Peter  –  her  rock,  her  trusted  confident,  her  brother,  her  King  –  had  at  times glimpsed her insecurities, reassured her or comforted her. In Narnia, though, where they were all truer to their selves. Not in England.  

In  England…  her  own  choices  had  left  her  alone;  though  she  didn’t  know  what  she could have done differently.

Like all of them, she had at first hoped. She had guarded the memories of her Home like a precious candle, to be protected from the harsh winds of her plain reality. Like  all  of  them,  she  had  for  a  while  indulged  in  recollection,  and  at  times  let something around her remind her of her lost past, or perhaps applied a lesson learned long before to the problems of nowadays. For  a  while  she’d  held  fast  to  the  hope  that  she  would  be  allowed  back.  She'd kept Queen  Susan  the  Gentle  alive  deep  inside,  carefully  weighing  the  actions  her  world required of her against her own Narnian values, waiting for the day when she would be freed and returned to her people once more.

But after crossing Aslan’s Door she’d had to give up that hope for good, lose the only small light that still kept her depression at bay.

And what was left then?

She was trapped in this world and she knew, there was no place for Queens here. If she wanted to survive, if she wanted to stay sane, she had to adapt.

The others still insisted on keeping the memories alive and close to their heart. Susan didn’t. She refused to.  

It broke Lucy’s heart, she knew, the way she pretended nothing had been real, that all had been but a figment of their imagination. An entire life, reduced in her words and actions to nothing more than silly children’s games.  

But what else could she do?  

She  had  no  more  memories  that  weren’t  tainted  with  the  pain  of  loss.  She  did  not want to rehash them, to be hurt again.  

And what else was left?

She  had  been  the  first  of  them  to  accept  the  difficult  transition  and  she  had  been quick to hide her suffering, because it was the sensible thing to do.  

Logical Susan.

She didn’t want to dwell on could-haves, should-haves.

She couldn’t keep Queen Susan the Gentle alive in a world where she was nobody. So she had made herself forget. Soon, she had no memories left at all, nothing but half-formed dreams.

She had tried hard, right from the start, to regain what she considered her ‘status’. Acting mature so the adults would praise her. Taking the ‘lead of the pack’ of her girlfriends at school, in the neighbourhood.  Resorting to make-up and trendy clothes to imitate the silks and jewels of Home, and collecting idiotic beaus instead of the suitors she missed.

At first, she had called them ‘English equivalent’. She had soon stopped, because the constant comparison made her current ‘successes’ pale even more in their shallowness.

But what else was left to her?

Then had come the anger, when she would lash out at any who mentioned Narnia in her hearing, and storm out of any room at the merest hint. She did not want to be reminded of past glories, not when she could never hope for them again.  

What was left of all that, anyway?

Anger hadn’t last, however, it wasn’t in Susan’s nature. Instead, she had resorted to simply denying Narnia. Completely.

She  remembered  all  too  well  Lucy’s  heartbroken  sobs  after  she  had  cruelly  mocked her for the first time for still believing in their ‘childhood fantasies’. But she no longer had hope, or faith. She no longer had true memories. She no longer had dreams.

And what else was left, then?

Once, only once in all her years she’d been granted a taste of true happiness, in the form  of  a  dark-haired  Prince  with  courtly  manners  and  a  shy  admiration  for  her strength and skill, flirting gallantly over a hunting horn. And oh, how cruel it had been, to offer her a glimpse of what might have been, and then take it all away, tell her she had no right to it.

She knew she could have been a good Queen for Caspian. He  valued  her  as  such,  not  as  a  trophy  wife  to  parade  around  but  as  an  equal monarch. She knew he’d seen her Gentleness and been captivated, seen her Strength and been awed. He hadn’t frowned at her determination in defending their people, nor dismissed her thoughts as uninformed.

She  knew  she  could  have  made  him  happy,  too.  She’d  already  felt  the  stirrings  of affection, for the charming Prince and for the people he led. For her beloved country, that she had so hoped to be returned to.

But it was not to be.

And back to plain old England, what was left?

She  couldn’t  be  Queen  here.  She  was  just  a  girl  and  no-one  wanted  a  girl  to  be strong, to be a leader.  She would never find a partner here; a husband possibly, but not a companion. She would never be respected in her own right here; as someone’s wife, maybe, but not as herself.

In Narnia, perhaps, she would always be remembered as the great Queen she once had  been  under  Peter’s  rule,  as  the  great  Queen  she  could  have  been  at  Caspian’s side. Perhaps.  

But how could Narnia matter here?

She’d fled to America as often as she could in the vain hope that it would grant her a life closer to the freedom and responsibility she’d once held so dear.

The  war  had  brought  many  changes,  but  Susan  was  too  young  to  be  among  the women  who  had  tasted  independence  while  replacing  the  men  who  had  gone  off  to war.  Instead,  she  took  her  first  steps  into  the  big  world  just  as  the  women  were required to give up their jobs to the returning men, and were thus encouraged to hide in their homes, to be flawless wives, selflessly devoted mothers, angels in the house.

Nothing more.

She’d been the first to adopt the New Look, always on top of the pack of her shallow, petty girlfriends.

Unlike them, she’d realized the implication of that fashion. It  took  time  to  put  the  New  Look  together,  time  the  women  now  had  as  the  men returned to their jobs in the factories and offices. It was the signal that the ‘fairer sex’ was not required to  do anything more strenuous, or more useful, than dress up for their men.

She despaired; but still she skilfully applied her make-up, still she chose her clothes with care, still she learned to fake enjoyment for the meaningless conversations and the silly giggles and the shallow friendships as was expected from her.

For what else was left to her?

Peter  and  Edmund  had  had  it  easier.  They  were  boys  after  all,  and  if  boys  talked about  swords  and  knights  and  battles  of  the  past,  nobody  found  it  strange.  If  they wanted  to  lead,  if  they  talked  of  serving  their  country,  everybody  thought  in admiration that they were so mature.

Lucy, bless her soul, was a child, she would always be the baby of the family, never required  to  grow  up.  If  she  danced  on  the  wet  grass  in  the  mornings  and  laughed delightedly at sunbeams peeking through foliage, everybody just smiled indulgently.  A child, and now she would forever be one, encased in the dark soil, dead before she even turned eighteen.

But Susan…  

What does Susan have left?

A tear falls slowly down her cheek, but she doesn’t know anymore what she is crying for.

Strong and determined she might have been, but slowly this grey, cold world – so far, so different from her warm Southern Sun! – has taken everything from her.

And now, what is left to her?  

She  doesn’t  have  Peter’s  fierce  protectiveness,  his  charismatic  personality  and  his strength of character. That indomitable fire that is now forever buried, snuffed in an instant by a wrecked train. She doesn’t have Edmund’s deeply ingrained compass of right and wrong, his passion for legalities and the solving of disputes. He would have become a great Judge, she knows. He’d been one before. She doesn’t have Lucy’s simple faith, her joyful nature and her ability to see a world in a raindrop, to feel amusement watching the leaves dance in the wind.  

What is she left with?

And now, everything she always took for granted was lost, too.

She’d  mourned  the  loss  of  her  memories,  of  her  hope,  of  her  faith,  of  her independence, of her role, of her importance…

Now  she  grieves  for  a  far  greater  loss,  the  irreplaceable  loss  of  love,  the  most precious of gifts, her family.

What more will she lose?

What is she left with?

Her eyes fall onto the Bible in her hands, that she has unconsciously opened to the wrong page. But she isn’t listening to the droned service anyway.

The words she’s staring at haunt her.

Matthew. 13.12:

_For to him who has will more be given, and he will have abundance;_  
 _but from him who has not, even what he has will be taken away._  
  



End file.
